God, Eponine, The Things You Do
by Kang Xiu
Summary: Eponine et Enjolras, because I swore I'd never write it. Eponine gives Enjolras a conviction. Had not intended to continue it, but Mika is too wonderful to refuse. Complete now.
1. God, Eponine, The Things You Do

God, Eponine, The Things You Do  
  
She was dirty. She felt dirty. She felt mad and she was *hungry*. Eponine was standing outside of the first cafe that looked likely, jumping from foot to foot because they were both bleeding a little, and hoping someone would come out and offer her something. To her acute discouragement, no one had yet.  
  
She hoped she looked dirty enough. With a little moan of impatience, she rubbed another handful of dust over her cheeks. She was hungry hungry hungry hungry--  
  
A young man stepped out of the cafe. He was quite tall, and very pretty (almost as pretty as her new neighbour, but not as gently so) and he looked somewhat caught up in his own thoughts. She sighed at that--he likely wouldn't notice her, and she wasn't a beggar, oh she wasn't, so she wouldn't actually go up to him and ask him to give her something to eat. Standing by a door and hoping someone felt charitable wasn't the same as begging, she insisted to herself.  
  
But the young man was looking at her. His eyebrows were raised, and he looked as though he were telling himself something, for his lips moved a little, without making a sound.  
  
"Girl," he said. "Come here for a moment."  
  
She scurried over. Good luck! Perhaps he would! Well, that she hadn't expected. "Yes, M.?" she asked, coughing to try and seem a bit more pathetic.  
  
"What is your name?"  
  
"Eponine Jondrette."  
  
"Have you always lived on the streets? Do you know why you have, or are you kept in ignorance?"  
  
She felt indignant, a little, at that. She knew what the word ignorance meant because her father used it so often. But she'd not either lived all her life on the streets, and she wasn't ignorant! They'd used to've been quite rich, she thought crossly. But if this young man was making sure she was suitably poor before he gave her anything--sometimes it happened that way--  
  
"'Ve always lived in Paris, if that's what you mean." She tilted her head, trying to look poorer and stupider (not that she was). She was so hungry hungry *damn* it and she wanted his sympathy.  
  
"I did think... Poor girl, you don't know you could be happy, do you? You don't know that if there were a Republic, you'd be taken care of." His blue eyes looked nearly angry. "And you need it. Someday, perhaps you'll have a home of your own, instead of sleeping on the streets."  
  
She did so have a home! An ugly home, but it was still a home. She didn't argue, however. She was mostly sure it was only a small matter of time before he gave her something. Anyway, the way he talked puzzled her.  
  
"Eponine, you said? Here's five francs for you, and your family, if they've not all been murdered by cruelty."  
  
She grabbed it eagerly. Ha! So he had been the right sort! She was utterly delighted, and felt her insides dancing. She was so hungry, and now she wouldn't be! The hunger nearly went away, she was so delighted. Five francs!  
  
In her ecstasy, she jumped up on her thin, bony legs and kissed the young man. "Thank you, M.!" Then she went back to her gloating, turning the five franc piece over. Five whole francs! She spun about and ran, rubbing the piece. Now she could eat!  
  
The young man stood, looking after her for a long time. At last, he wiped off his lips with two fingers and sighed. He just had fallen in love with the idea of what the poor were now and what they had become. He had fallen in love with this girl and with what could save her. He saw, passing before his eyes, revolutions, 1793, barricades, freedom, and ugly street children transformed into angels of France. He suddenly knew what he would do and what he wanted most in life.  
  
And Eponine, stuffing down a bun, didn't even know what she'd done. 


	2. A Conversation

A Conversation

Eponine sighed and kicked at the street stones listlessly. She was hungry again, just as she was always, always hungry, and she could not think of a single person in the world who might give her money or food. Father wanted her to earn money, but of course how could a girl earn money when she was too hungry to think straight? Hungry, hungry, hungry hungry hungry--she kicked a larger stone and stopped in surprise as it made a different sort of thunk when it landed than stones falling on stones usually did. She looked up warily.

Oh, but it was her boy, her boy who had given her the money before! Eponine forgot that she had just kicked a stone at him, and smiled widely, showing her bits of teeth. He had been sympathetic last time, indeed he had. She knew that he liked the idea of giving kindness to a poor, broken-up street girl, and if that was what made him happy, she was glad to do it. Only she hoped he would generous to-day, for that would please her father, too, and things would be even better.

"M'sieu, good M'sieu! Do you remember me? I'm Eponine!" She smiled wider. "Do you remember?"

He looked at her with almost a frown, tilting his head. "I remember, girl. Eponine. Yes."

Good, he remembered! Her head spun a little with delight, or perhaps it was because she was so hungry. That would make him even more likely to be kind.

"Eponine, do you remember our conversation when I first met you?"

"'Course, M'sieu!" Oh, conversations! She didn't remember at all, but he was smiling, so that was good.

"Then I shall tell you that I made you a promise that day, that I should do my best to give you a better life and lift you out of your poverty by creating a world where you'll be an equal, and cared for."

"Cared for, M'sieu?" Her mother cared for her all right. Maybe not as good as a fine girl's maman took care of her, but it was well enough, and her mother still petted her hair, even, when she'd done a good day's work. That was nice, sometimes.

"Yes, Eponine. You shall be taken care of." He knelt down before her and put his hands on her bare shoulders. "You could be a fine woman. Would you like that?"

"Oh, yes!" She grinned. He was really being funny to-day, her boy. Suddenly she froze. His face had gone all upset, and she was very afraid he would change his mind after all. Then she realised he was weeping. Of all things! "M'sieu?"

"Be well, Eponine. Here's for you and your family." He gave her a couple of five franc pieces. Better than last time, even! she thought triumphantly, grabbing them and cuddling them close.

"Thank you, thank you, M'sieu! Thank you!"

"You're welcome," he said, touching her hair sadly, and then he turned and left, looking over his shoulder sometimes. Eponine was not paying attention. He'd just bought her food and probably a warm welcome home.

He was a funny, crazy one, her boy, but he was a good boy just the same.


	3. The Final Meeting

**The Final Meeting**

* * *

It was Sunday. Eponine only knew because she was supposed to be bringing letters to the people coming out of church, but the church was nasty and cold and only lit up with candles, and she was standing outside a little shop and hopping back and forth on her toes, wondering if she oughtn't just try getting somebody's attention at a café or something, in a warm place. If she got money for it, it was worth it. If it didn't work, then she was in trouble. She hopped back and forth, back and forth, ponderously, contemplating first the sky, then the ground beneath her, and then the door of the church, trying to pick something that would be most likely to work and still be comfortable. 

Her mind was made up for her all of a sudden when her boy--her crazy mad boy--slipped past her, dressed up like a poor boy, with rags and tatters on his back. For a minute, she just looked at him. It was hard to recognise him when he wasn't in his nice clothes. Then she knew who it was because he looked so pretty (oh, he had such nice teeth! they were all there, not like hers, not like 'Zelma's) and because he was kneeling before a little street girl and talking to her.

That was how he talked to Eponine.

She glowered at the little girl angrily, and rushed over to pounce her and kick her, making her squeal. Her boy was her boy! He gave money to her! There was not another girl in Paris was going to get his money and his silly sympathy. Why, he knew her name! He remembered it, and even Eponine could not always remember it, because her father changed it a lot and also because she just got worse at remembering things every month.

Only her boy grabbed her arm roughly when the little girl ran off, and shook her lightly.

"Girl! What did you do that for?"

"She's not yours!" said Eponine indignantly, pulling her arm back.

"Not mine? What do you mean by that?" He looked sternly at her, and she smiled back, trying to be coy and shy and pitiful and tragic all at once.

"It's me, M'sieu! Oh, you're always forgetting me at first, but you'll remember in a moment, just as you did before. It's me, Eponine!"

Then his stern look softened and she got hopeful. Yes, yes, yes! she thought at him. Oh, he remembered! He always remembered! That's why he was her boy, and not some other slut's--hers. Just like Monsieur Marius (she'd learnt the name of her new neighbour) was hers, but not, because she was awfully fond of Monsieur Marius. Her boy just pitied her. He was hers because he remembered things and because he gave her money. It was like being a kept girl, except that she didn't have to sleep with him, which was good, because Montparnasse and a lot of other people her father knew already had her regular, and she didn't have _time_ to be anybody's kept girl. Anyway, her boy remembered her, and he was just all hers.

"Yes, Eponine. You're quite right. I am always forgetting," he said, touching her shoulder. "You must forgive that, because you're a terribly important girl. You know that, I suppose?"

"No, M'sieu!" she cried, impressed. Why, important? She'd not known that, but--oh, she thought in annoyance, important people didn't get money! Cripples with really ugly scars or horribly bent-up arms and legs were important and still got money, but they were the only ones. Otherwise, if you were important, you weren't pitiful, you weren't sad, and nobody tossed you sous. They just laughed because you were down on your luck.

"Poor child..." her boy murmured, staring at her fixedly and kindly.

"How'm I important?" Eponine asked quickly. Once she knew, she'd find out how to fix it, she would!

"Because you signify poverty. You embody everything that all your fellow beggars and urchins must suffer from--the loss, the hunger, the ruin, the pain, the cold--"

Cold! She seized upon the one thing she clearly understood. "I am cold! You've got that right, M'sieu! Last night, I thought for sure I'd not be waking up again, since we've got a busted fireplace that we can't get no heat out of, and nothing to cover up with!"

Her boy, with his stern face, his darkish eyes, his pretty, severe mouth that she admired because it was so awfully soft-looking and unchapped, seemed to tremble all over. She could feel it just looking at him. He turned aside for a minute and closed his eyes. Then he turned back.

"You must forgive me," he said softly. "You must forgive me again. Now, I told you that you embody everything--hunger, pain, cold--and you are also the means of saving them. Do you know that when you stand for these things, you make a figure to rally behind? You could be warm, safe--do you remember that I promised you you would be a proper woman one day? You will be that, too--if you will present yourself to the discontent of Paris as an image. You could be an ideal. Would you like that, Eponine?"

"Wossit mean? Only I don't know if I'd want to if I don't know what it is."

"You will be the broken Patria. Your torn clothes will be our flag. We will fight in your name. You were the first one--you were the one who showed me. I had not known before... Do you want to be free?"

"Is it like being warm?" she asked. It was looking like he wasn't going to give her money to-day, only just talk to her, and she wanted money more than talk! She was missing the church crowd; they were already walking past and out of her reach. She was going to be in awful damn trouble if he didn't just give her something that she could show her father! Oh! she cried in her head, frustrated. Why couldn't he just _give_ her something? Something she could get her hands on or her teeth into? Oh!

"It is much like being warm. You would not need to fear winter."

"I ain't afraid of winter, not much."

"You would not need to fear a painful death."

"Oh. I ain't scared of dying, either."

"Then you are a brave girl, a very brave girl. Would you give us something to stand for? Would you give us something to fight for? You provided us the spark of the idea at the very first. Help us make it a fire now!"

She frowned. It wasn't working, pretending to be brave and stupid. She needed to do something else and make him want to help her. What if she was sad? That might be a good idea. Suddenly she burst into tears, messy, elaborate ones that were really awfully hard to make come, because she hadn't done it in a long time, and she buried her face in her hands and the collar of her shift's torn-up bodice.

"I just want to be warm! You didn't talk to me like this at first! Now you're trying to make me do things, and I don't understand, and I--I--"

"Shh, hush," he said quickly, and she would've smiled into her hands while she was pretending to cry, because he sounded so awkward and silly, her crazy boy, except that she was concentrating too hard on making it work. You couldn't smile and make your shoulders shake properly at the same time. "What do you want? It is important that you are forced into nothing. What is it you truly want?"

"I want to be warm! I'm so _cold_! Oh, I'm frightened!"

"I would keep you warm at le Musain. Mere Houcheloup would look after you--no." He stood very straight, looking cold and dignified. "I would look after you, for you would be my own responsibility."

Of course, that wouldn't work, and Eponine knew it without even having to think. Well, she did have to think, because it sounded nice, living with her crazy boy in a warm place. But he was talking too funny now. He wasn't the same as he used to be, and it bothered her, and she knew she could get money from other people if he wasn't going to give any more. He made it sound like he wanted a kept girl, and she'd already known that she didn't have time at all. Besides, she was all fond of Monsieur Marius. Besides, father would beat her something awful when she finally went home, and she couldn't run as good when she was beat. Anyway, she knew that wouldn't work, living with her boy, because even though he gave her money sometimes, he hadn't given her money this time, and it wasn't any use taking gambles.

She shook her head, sniffling and wiping her nose on the backs of her hands. "Oh, no, M'sieur. I can't."

"You won't?"

"I can't. I'm awful sorry."

"It's fitting," he said to himself, looking away from her all abruptly. "The poor are not still poor when they live with the rich. She would have no meaning to the rest of them if I took her in. No, she must stay here where she represents us perfectly. I really did not want them to see her, at any rate. I shan't show her off like some mistress of mine, like Courfeyrac flaunting a grisette. No, no. It is better this way." He turned back. "Then I will give you something for listening to my proposition, at least." He dug into his pockets, and Eponine's heart leapt. Yes, yes, yes! she cried in her head. Oh, God, at last! Then her boy looked up at her and smiled sadly. "You have no use for tokens, Eponine. I cannot give you something pretty to look at. The only thing that matters is money, because that is all you need to survive, all you can survive on. Very well, then. Here is money. Come here."

Eponine edged forward eagerly, and he gave her his whole wallet, a heavy, small little wallet made all of soft leather, and she took it in her hands, amazed only for a little time before excitement took over. Oh! Oh, she could give her father a tiny bit of the money and keep all the rest for herself, and store things in the wallet when the money was gone, like letters or--or things, anyway--and oh! it seemed like enough money to last a thousand years, and she was so happy! It was the most wonderful thing she had ever touched! Oh, she wouldn't have to be hungry for such a long time!

"Thank you, thank you, m'sieu!" she cried, trying to embrace him with one thin, cold arm and clutch the wallet in her hand, and jumping up and down at the same time. "Thank you!"

"You are welcome. Poor child..."

"May I go now, M'sieu?"

"Yes, yes, go. I won't bother you again, and you should forget about the offer I tried to press on you before. It meant nothing."

"You won't see me no more, then?"

"Perhaps not."

"Well, then, God bless you, M'sieu! Good-bye!" It was the last lie-thing, the last time she ever said something to make him feel sad and generous, and she did it because she was grateful. Eponine danced on her toes, smiled widely at him and showed the broken teeth in her broken mouth, and ran off laughing happily and calling God bless you! over her shoulder, till she was out of sight and stopped at once.

Her boy, though she couldn't see him any more, stood looking after her. He stood tall, with his back quite straight and his face quite proud despite the fact that he wore rags, which he did because he meant to live like the poor lived, at any rate, for a few days. Before Eponine was entirely out of sight, he shook his head, and murmured, "Poor child. How I loved you!" Then he turned, and walked back towards le Musain, where he knew his companions were waiting. He might never have Patria so near him again, but at least he knew she was out in Paris, among the poor, among the destitute; and he knew that she was real enough to touch and to lie and to steal and to need him; and he knew he could fight in her name even if she did not stand before him. It was enough.

Eponine, in the meantime, looking through the wallet happily, was satisfied, mostly, and she regretted sorely that she would never see her mad boy and his money again. It was certain that if she ever thought of him later, it would be fondly. She might indeed never see him, but he was still her boy.  
_  
Fin_


End file.
